


The Killer AU

by cloudsarefluffy



Series: Tumblr Made Me Do It [2]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blood Kink, Bloodlust, Bottom Dean, Breeding, Brutal Murder, Castiel Has Issues, Castiel Talks Dirty, Cliffhangers, Crazy, Dark Castiel, Dark Dean Winchester, Dark Derek, Dark Fantasy, Dark Past, Dark Stiles, Dead Sam, Dean Has Issues, Dean in Denial, Derek Hale as the Big Bad Wolf, Derek Has Issues, Derek Has a Plan, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Derek is Crazy, Derek is Obssessed with Stiles, Derek kills for Stiles, Disturbing Themes, Fucked Up, Human Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired By Tumblr, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Mental Health Issues, Murder Kink, Murderers, No Self-Harm, No Sex, Nogitsune Trauma, Non-Human Stiles, Not Underage, Not a Crossover, Nothing Suicidal, Oblivious Stiles, POV Dean Winchester, POV Stiles, PTSD Stiles, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Castiel, Possessive Derek, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Roughness, Self-Lubrication, Serial Killer Castiel, Serial Killer Dean, Serial Killer Derek, Serial Killer Stiles Stilinski, Serial Killers, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Stiles, Stalker Derek Hale, Stiles Feels, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Kills on Accident, Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Know About Werewolves, Stiles Stilinski Gets High, Stiles Stilinski as Little Red Riding Hood, The Author Needs A Therapist, Top Castiel, Triggers, Tumblr Prompt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Werewolf Derek, Young Dean Winchester, magical pendant, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsarefluffy/pseuds/cloudsarefluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this Tumblr Post: "<i>Imagine your OTP meeting each other for the first time, at night, in the woods, while both trying to dispose of their freshly killed corpses.</i>"</p><p>--</p><p><b>Chapter 1</b> - Destiel<br/><b>Chapter 2</b> - Sterek</p><p>Certain tags apply to a certain chapter. Read the author's note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In My Veins

**Author's Note:**

> I think there might be something wrong with me. It's... worrying, knowing how easily it was to write this fic. Like, not even joking. Maybe it's because I always watch crime shows like _Criminal Minds_ or _Law and Order: SVU_ or whatever, and that I'm kind of acclimated to dish out the dark shit like this. Who knows?  
>  (Not me, and I'm worried.)
> 
> Anyways, it's been a while since I added anything new, and while I don't really plan on adding a whole lot, one-shots are probably going to be something I'll do before I get done correcting my old fic. It's just easier, and hey, I still have leftover prompts from Tumblr.  
> Who knows, I may even make a few Sterek ones, too. (:
> 
> __
> 
>  **Tags:** All tags containing Dean Winchester and Castiel, Impala stuff, Knifeplay, Bloodlust, Blood Kink.  
>  I think you get it.
> 
> Enjoy!~

 

 

* * *

   
 

 

One slice, two slices. Three, just to be sure.

Dean takes a step back to admire his handy work with a small nod of finality, the dismembered body below him glistening with cooling blood.

It's Dean's favorite thing honestly- blood. He just loves how _black_ it looks whenever it's in moonlight. It makes his heart beat faster, his eyes widen. It's like taking a hit of a drug that he never _ever_ wants to sober up from.

He knows that it makes him kind of psychopathic- that his addiction to seeing that beautiful crimson liquid drip and leak everywhere is unhealthy at best, but he can't find the notion to care. Besides, it's not like he has anyone to worry about shaming or scaring off. John's always been long gone, Bobby hasn't been in Dean's life since he was sixteen, and Sammy's anniversary is about to come up.

Three years.

It's so hard to fucking believe. So Dean doesn't.

Dean feels the void in his chest widen a little further, darken a little more, and he takes it out on the poor girl who just happened to have a familiar looking brown mop of hair and chocolate eyes. Dean feels some regret for it, knowing that just like Sammy, she was probably leaving some kind of family behind.

But then again, she's a hooker. If anything, her family probably wanted nothing to do with her in the first place.

She won't be missed, unlike little Sammy.

That makes it a little easier for Dean to wrap her bits and pieces up in garbage bags, all while whistling some ACDC as he digs up her unmarked grave plot in the middle of the woods. It's a good spot, Dean knows. Off the interstate- disconnected from him at best. If someone finds her and the police come looking, they won't suspect Dean. They'll just think she was a poor example of why you shouldn't take rides from strangers and leave it at that.

Funny. It's how Dean got a hold of her anyways. He just pulled up to the corner in the sedan he stole a few towns back, and she just hopped right in when he opened the passenger side door. It was so easy that she was just asking for it.

The ground below gives way to the shovel easily enough, the snapping of roots keeping Dean in check as he continues to make the final resting place for one of his latest impulses. There's nothing else with him other than the numerous, lemon-scented garbage bags by his feet and his foggy breaths keeping him company, except for the occasional, fleeting pass of a car a few hundred feet away.

People can be so naive and blind sometimes.

Dean should know; he hunts them for a living.

With a few more tosses from the shovel, the deep, vertical grave that Dean has been preparing for at least half an hour now is finally ready. One by one, he begins to toss the garbage bags containing the poor girl's remains into the spot he designated for her. It's like picking a grave, almost. Only this time it's off of the I-95 and it's unmarked, oh, and that she was murdered by her gravedigger as well. It makes the corner of Dean's mouth twitch, but he doesn't smile.

Hasn't since Sammy.

It's right as Dean is about to chuck the final bag into his dumping spot when he hears a twig snap, and his head jerks up as his muscles stiffen. He slowly reaches for his knife- the one he'd used on the girl's body not so long ago- that's tucked in along his belt loops, as though it's an accessory. The handle is a grounding thing in Dean's hand, making the world sharpen into focus. It's a natural response, after all. He's a killer by instinct now.

Dean is watching the edge of the leaf-barren trees like an owl, with his eyes wide and his head moving to survey what could be his next chance at prey. His knife, sharp like a talon, glints lowly as he positions it, just in case. Lord knows, if he's out there, that Dean is far too paranoid to not let someone stop him from coping.

There's another noise, but this time, it's a ruffling of leaves. It draws Dean's attention to a small clearing in the trees, and thankfully, he's far away enough from the highway where he's at an advantage. The street lamps, while distant, only illuminate the figure that is now lumbering into Dean's current and ongoing disposal. It makes Dean's veins thrum with excitement, knowing that he could get an extra chance to see his beloved liquid gold before the night is out, and he can't stop the way that his mouth waters at the prospect. He watches on, though, because Dean has always been one for the hunt.

He watches as the darker form comes into the small clearing, the person's grunts of exertion making Dean's toes curl in anticipation as he watches the unknown and unaware intruder come closer and closer. Dean licks his lips, feeling his heart skyrocket in his chest when he notices that he might have just walked in on someone else "coping". The intruder is dragging a body through the decaying foliage, its limbs limp as the person handles it like a rag doll. Dean is instantly on board, and he wonders who this mysterious murderer might be as they position the body to resemble that of a starfish.

He watches in rapt fascination as the other killer leaves for a few moments, only to come back with an axe in hand. The person's coat, longer than the one that Dean is wearing, is catching the bitter wind that blows past Dean's face as the person raises up their arms, only to swing down with brunt force seconds later.

Dean's body jolts with pleasure at the sound, his mouth filling with saliva as he smells that lovely rusty tang he's come to fancy so much, and he can't help but bite his lip to stop the moan that wants to escape him. The intruder is still unaware of Dean's presence, despite Dean's struggle to contain himself at the scent of freshly spilt blood, as he hacks away. Each thump of the axe's blade has Dean rubbing himself through his jeans, and little noises are beginning to slip past his lips when his teeth manage to pierce the flesh below. The salty, coppery taste has Dean's eyes rolling in the back of his head, causing a low, guttural moan to leave him as his eyelids flutter closed, despite his attempts to stop it.

The axe stops chopping, leaving Dean to still as he opens his eyes to find that the other body has been abandoned, and his arousal dampens at the realization that he let his little one-hit wonder get away. A small pout forms on Dean's face, that is, until it's knocked out of him when another body slams into his own.

Dean knows better than to scream, but it doesn't stop his heart from jumping in his chest as he feels his own blade get pressed to his throat. Dean steels himself, and he looks up at the man that is now lying on top of him.

It's light enough to where Dean can see a few of the man's features, but still dark enough to where a lot of his face remains hidden. His eyes, an electrified blue, are staring into Dean. _Cold; calculating._ His face is just as impassive as Dean's, only giving way a little to a small twitch that jerks occasionally under his eye. His skin is speckled with blood, alongside his clothes, and it doesn't help Dean any when he can feel the man's hips pressed tightly into his own.

Dean swallows roughly, almost groaning when he feels the blade of his knife press closer and further into his skin. The sharp nip of his weapon's edge has Dean bucking his hips up as an automatic response, and with the way that the man's eyes darken, he wasn't expecting such a reaction.

"Any last words before I slit your throat?"

Oh, that _voice_.

Dean has to take a second to compose himself, and even then, when he takes a breath and feels the man inch the blade a little more into his neck- a silent "get the fuck on with it"- Dean can't help but feel... _right_.

"I like your style."

Dean's response seems to have surprised the man even further, because the knife lets up only a fraction.

"My style?"

Dean nods, and he licks his lips quickly, "Yeah... It's gritty and messy. I love it."

The guy tilts his head, as though to analyze Dean, but he doesn't remove the knife, "You like my work..."

"Yeah," Dean jerks his head a little, careful of the blade's edge as he does so, over to where his clean-up is left in progress, "Wanna see mine?"

That makes the other killer's eyes widen, "There's a body in that bag?"

Dean snorts, "Not really, it's just parts of one. I'm afraid I get a little... _carried away,_ when it comes to disposals."

The man licks his lips, and in seconds, he's off of Dean's throat and standing, "Show me."

His voice is lower than before, and Dean relishes in it as he eagerly jumps up to show the guy his own, quote-on-quote, "work". His cheeks burn with what Dean realizes is a small smile, and it only makes Dean feel even giddier as he shows this mysterious man what he's done.

"I have a system," Dean begins explaining, and the man is staring at him heatedly as Dean goes on to show him his newest dumping site and methods, "There's one bag for all of the insides, and then a few more for sections of the body parts."

"Interesting," the man comments, his eyes like a hawk's as Dean prances around like a puppy waiting for approval, "Do you have a specific classification for a set in each bag?"

Dean nods earnestly, "Yeah. There's one for the lower portion, one for the arms and the head, and then one for the torso altogether."

The guy's eye twitches again, "What do you use to dismember the body?"

"The knife that you're currently holding," Dean murmurs, and he sees the guy stare at what he had almost used to kill Dean with only moments before, "It's my baby. I use it for everything."

"Isn't it a little tough to cut bone, though?"

Dean smirks, knowing that his eyes must have taken on a dark glint going by the way the man's head tilts slightly, "Oh, working through it's the fun part."

That makes the other killer smile, "For a second, I believed that you might have been a passerby trying to lie his way to safety... What's your name?"

"Dean. Yours?"

"Castiel," the man answers, and he turns the knife back over, "Now, how about you show me what that little blade of yours can do."

Dean chuckles darkly, "Oh, it's not the blade that counts, it's the wielder. Surely you should've known that by now, Cas."

The man perks at the sudden nickname, "Hm, I'll just have to see it for myself, then."

Cas is right behind Dean as they go to the other body, making Dean's veins thrum like they had before. It's a first, considering that the sensation only happens when Dean is cutting up a body or handling blood.

Cas may just be an exception, then.

The man's presence makes Dean's move somewhat jittery as he kneels down next to Cas' victim, and he swallows as he grips his knife's handle tightly.

"Come on, Dean," Cas purrs, "Show me what you can do."

Dean shudders with excitement, and he grips onto the body down below to finish what Cas had started.

The man hovers over Dean, and he ends up getting closer and closer with each bit of the body that Dean disassembles- as though it were nothing but a mere toy that was no longer worthy of getting played with. His breaths are up against Dean's neck as he finishes cutting the last piece of flesh, and Dean finds his body vibrating from the hand that's on his lower back alone.

"Well done, Dean," the man murmurs, his lips moving against the shell of Dean's ear, "You're quite efficient."

"Maybe you should keep me around, then," Dean blurts, and it's an open door that he so desperately wants Cas to saunter on in through.

Cas nibbles on the lobe of Dean's ear, "I might just do that..."

Oh, that's what Dean is counting on.

 

 

Dean doesn't know how they managed to stay apart for so long, or at least, that they didn't end up losing control sooner. With the way that Cas was eying Dean's ass as he bent over to bury Cas' victim, Dean knew that things would end up heated between them soon enough.

He was right.

It was after they just finished topping off and leveling Dean's plot that Cas made a move. The man had obviously been restraining himself for a majority of the time thus far, and Dean admired that Cas had so much self-control. After all, Dean had none when it came to the sight of blood.

It is why Cas found him, ironically enough.

Still, it didn't change the fact that Dean loved the way that Cas grabbed at him through his jeans after he covered his victim's grave with leaves, and he could help but lean into that hand as it palmed him through the denim. Cas was right up against him after that, his lips and teeth working feverishly at Dean's neck- as though he was strung out like a twisted rubber band, and Dean just happened to help snap away that tension with his body.

"I got a car," Dean hisses out as Cas runs a hand up past his shirt.

"With how you looked, I thought you were too young to drive," Cas rumbles, licking a stripe up Dean's throat, "How old are you, Dean?"

Dean smirks, "Twenty, believe it or not. You?"

"Mmm," Cas hums, "I'll be twenty-eight next month."

"Consider me an early birthday present, then," Dean moans, rubbing his ass back onto Cas' crotch, only to find that the man is so hard that he's straining the zipper of his jeans, "Seems like you've got somethin' to give me, Cas."

Cas makes a gruff noise, "Oh, I plan on it, Dean... Now, where's your car?"

"Over here," Dean tugs at Cas' hand, and he drags the man over to where his baby is sheathed in darkness, "She's a lil' hard to see with her bein' black and all, but I honestly can't see her in any other color."

Dean moves away some of the branches that he placed on her to add a little more camouflage. He preens in delight as Cas' face darkens with what seems like an idea.

"Dean, how does getting fucked on the hood sound to you?"

Dean licks his lips, and he can't help but feel that familiar tingle of arousal on his skin, "Sounds perfect."

Cas smiles sinisterly, and without much warning, Dean finds himself getting shoved onto his baby's hood. Cas' weight pins him down against the cool metal, and Dean can't help but exhale roughly as his excitement builds in mere seconds.

"I wonder what you'd look like if you were washing this," Cas murmurs, running a hand up from Dean's thigh to the cleft of his ass, "I would bet money on you looking absolutely _fuckable_ covered in suds while being soaked through and through."

Dean shivers, his back arching and curving in an automatic response, "You want me to wear shorts while I clean up my baby, Cas?"

The man groans, his hips pressing tightly against Dean's ass, "That mouth of yours, Dean..."

"Aw, you like it, don't ya, Cas?"

Cas grips onto his hips harder, "I'm sure that I'm not the first."

"No, you're not."

Dean feels the man work his knife out of his belt loops, and he can't help but enjoy the familiar sensation of his own weapon against his throat. Cas shudders from behind Dean, his exhales rough and ragged as he pulls Dean's head back by the strands of his short hair.

"Well, I'm going to be the last, Dean, because as of right now," the knife digs in a little more, making Dean feel amazingly vulnerable and at a perfect loss of control, "you're _mine._ "

Dean swallows, the sensation of it making him groan as he feels his throat work against the blade's edge in just the right ways, the burn of Cas stretching his neck making him twitch and jerk.

"Look at you," Cas murmurs in awe, and he takes the knife to dance it along the edge of Dean's jaw, "You're like a baby lamb right now, Dean. So innocent looking... So fragile..."

Dean moans as his knife nicks his jawline.

"I could end your life right now, and I could just walk away..." the man whispers, his hips making small movements against Dean's, "Or... I could take you on this hood."

Dean pushes back against Cas' crotch, "Please, Cas."

"Pick one, Dean."

Dean hisses as Cas dances the tip of his knife down the side of his neck, "Either, Cas. I don't care."

Cas chuckles, "Oh, you're making me think about this one."

Dean groans, letting his head fall onto his baby's hood, "Cas, _please..._ "

The man hums, making the blade rest against the base of Dean's throat, "I think that I've made my decision."

Dean closes his eyes, knowing that whatever it may be, Cas will be the one holding his knife at his throat, and that he'll die with a smile on his face.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Destiel chapter might also get a sequel? ... (ಠ⌣ಠ)


	2. Bad Moon Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the Sterek installation for the prompt. At first, it was just going to be Destiel, but I realized that I just couldn't help myself. I've gotten into quite the habit of overlapping prompts or ideas with these two ships, and I don't know if I should stop or not.  
> Let's see how it plays out, first.
> 
> Anyways, Stiles is kind of f-ed up after the Nogitsune, but plot twist- **this is an alternate plot line to the show.**  
>  So far, Stiles just happened to be possessed, and Scott never got bit that night. Just read on, because it'll explain it to you, hopefully.
> 
>  **Tags:** All tags containing Stiles and Derek, Nogitsune tags, Self-Lubrication, Implied Child Abuse, Magical Pendant thing, Derek wanting to get Stiles preggo? ...  
>  It doesn't get much better than that. 
> 
> Also, this is what Moonstone looks like:  
>  **http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=moonstone &qs=n&form=QBIR&pq=moonstone&sc=8-4&sp=-1&sk=#view=detail&id=6DC3E1F694EB07B2EDDFE460E6F82067470F74AD&selectedIndex=10**
> 
> Enjoy!~

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Stiles promised himself that it wouldn't happen again.

But it did.

It's why he's frantically trying to find a good enough place to bury the body before the true panic sets in.

His feet catch on every single root that he tries to overstep, and he finds himself bumping into tree trunks, his red hoodie getting caught occasionally as he scrambles along through the Preserve. Shame boils low in his gut as he thinks of his dad- about how he used to come out here and camp and fish with his father- and oh god, _Scott-_ and how he would take it if he was called in to stop his son from his personal burial detail.

What would they think of him if they knew about his predicament? About his problem? About how he loses his mind more often than not, only to hazily come back to consciousness to discover crimson staining his skin?

_Again?_

Stiles' trips, causing him to fall face first into the forest floor below. He groans, rolling over onto his back so he can take a moment to breathe and recollect himself.

One. Two. Three.

A-B-C.

"You're fine, Stiles," he murmurs to himself, running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair in an attempt to ease his fraying nerves, "You're good. Just- just get your head in the game. You've done this before."

The moon is full and heavy as it hangs in the sky almost right above Stiles, the twisted tips of branches waving over it with the wind. Unease sits in Stiles' stomach like a rock, pushing him back up onto his feet.

There's not much time to waste, anyways.

He finds a good spot, thankfully, a few minutes afterwards. It leaves him retracing his steps until he sees his Jeep- his _mom's_ Jeep.

He wonders if she'd be ashamed with all that he's had to use it for...

It doesn't matter either way, because it doesn't change the fact that there's a body that's growing colder and stiffer in Stiles' backseat. He grimaces as he pulls the person out, their neon orange wig falling off onto the ground as Stiles manhandles them for removal.

He nearly drops the body, though, because his mind is a dick ninety-percent of the time, and it decides that now will be perfect for Stiles to experience one of his "relapses".

Stiles doesn't know how things got this bad- how _he_ got this bad- but he knows that it all starts from that one night when he and Scott were still-too-curious sophomores.

It was after Stiles overheard a dispatcher on his father's radio, and they'd been prowling the woods for some body, ironically enough. Stiles had dragged Scott along for the escapade, and at the time, it just seemed like some morbid, teenage fun.

It was, until they actually discovered said body in the woods.

Stiles can still picture the corpse now- its skin rottening and shredded; its stench rancid and repugnant. Scott had to brace himself on the tree while he vomited, and Stiles remembers that his eyes watered and that he was gagging almost constantly. He had regretted telling Scott that this is what they should've done to pass the time, and going by the look of freshly formed trauma that Scott was sporting, he more than likely felt regret for agreeing to come along. Stiles was about to open his mouth, but that's whenever a weird sensation fell over him.

He's supposing that's when the Nogitsune first possessed him, but he's not sure. His time being used as a vessel for the demon was summed up nicely with the word "blur" and the phrase: "I don't know what's going on."

It was kind of a relief to find out that in a weird, twisted version of events, that Deaton, someone Stiles _never_ would've suspected of being capable of such a thing, was able to free him of the monster that managed to make a home in his head.

He wasn't, however, able to free Stiles of the damage it had caused before its eviction.

The demon had altered every aspect of Stiles' life after that, making him skittish and anxious wherever he went. It made the people that knew him go from open-armed to suddenly walking on eggshells. But most of all, it made Stiles feel broken on the inside, and if anything else... _hungry_.

It's like an alternate personality was forced into Stiles' skull, and there's just not enough space. He switches from one to the other, there never being an in between limbo for him to balance it through, making everything so very complicated. Drugs helped only a little, and Stiles only knew that much because of the kids at Allison's party a few weeks back let him try weed, and it seemed to settle that dark side of him pretty well.

Still, it didn't help out any whenever the orange-haired patron of The Jungle didn't want to give Stiles a hit.

Yeah, that worked out for Stiles _real_ well.

Stiles' vision comes back after a few blinks, and he shivers as he realizes that the dead body is pressed up against him. He jumps up, his teeth chattering over the howl of the wind as he picks up the bright hairpiece from the grass.

Leave no traces. Bury the evidence.

Stiles hastily drags the poor person into the woods of the Preserve, and he's trying not to cry in desperation and guilt as he tries to get rid of his latest slip up.

God- and he thought he'd been doing good recently.

He has to wipe at his face a few times to be able to see, and when the tears finally die down and his breathing gets somewhat under control, Stiles is somewhat able to get back to his cover up. The trees groan as the wind picks up a little, and Stiles shivers as goosebumps prickle his skin. He fears that maybe he'll end up getting hypothermia or something, because it's harder to cover up a lost limb than a dead body.

He sighs, knowing that he's overthinking and that he should calm down and focus on the task at hand. But still... Something just doesn't- something doesn't feel right...

Stiles carries on though, knowing that it's better to be safe than sorry, and he pushes through his nerves to get started on clearing away a spot for the poor Jungle patron to rot in.

It's just as Stiles brushes away some of the leaves that he realizes something.

The ground... it's been... it's been recently dug up.

Curiosity, as always, gets the better of Stiles, and he finds himself using his hands to brush away what seems like topsoil.

What he finds makes him want to vomit- not only from fear and disgust, but from the recognition that the pale face and glazed over eyes give him.

It's- Stiles _knows_ this person.

"Oh my god," Stiles hisses under his breath, shivering from more than just the wind now, " _Harris._ "

Stiles remembers the man very vaguely. He was Stiles' chemistry teacher for a few months before he mysteriously just disappeared a few days or so ago. Stiles just thought that maybe Harris was scammed into joining a cult or something else that sounded stupid and pretentious enough for the man, but obviously, Harris hasn't been doing anything for quite some time now.

" _Shit,_ " Stiles curses, grabbing at his hand that didn't uncover his dead (surprise!) chemistry teacher's body, "Shit, I can't-"

"You don't like my gift?"

Stiles flails back, and he can't help but feel his chest tighten uncomfortably as he falls over his own kill. He doesn't stop his limbs from kicking about until he's pressed up against the trunk of a nearby tree, and his chest shakes from the combination of his rapid heartbeat and breathing.

Before him is a man, about his height but far more built, looking at him with some amount of hurt. His mouth is set in a scowl, and his thick eyebrows are furrowed. He looks at Stiles as though he just _offended_ him with his reaction.

"G-Gift?"

The man nods towards Harris' decomposing body, "Yes. You seem like you don't like it."

Stiles wants to point out that- hey, dead bodies aren't really gifts- but he swallows nervously and plays along, "I, uh, I do... I was just caught off guard, is all."

A small smile spreads over the man's lips, "I thought you would like it, especially after he gave you an 'F' on your paper."

Stiles frowns at that, "B-But I never told anyone about that... I even threw that paper away..."

The guy's grin grows, and he holds up the essay that Stiles thought was laying in a random dump somewhere, "I saved it. I must say, Stiles, you're a good writer. Though, I believe that most wouldn't read a review over the history of male circumcision."

"Y-You- ..."

 _'You dug that out of the trash',_ is what Stiles means to say before his words died on his tongue, but he's so out of his element that he just fucking _can't_ right now.

"I saved a lot of other things, too," he murmurs, "Since you were a freshman, actually."

Oh, that's... _shit._

"You've been stalking me for almost three years?" Stiles murmurs in horror.

The man nods, and he takes a step forward, making Stiles' heart thump wildly against his ribs, "I'd like to call it something else, but in a sense, yes, I have been."

Stiles gulps, "T-That's good..."

"I won't hurt you, before you ask," he comments idily, messing with a few leaves with the tip of his shoe, "I'm far too fond of you to cause you any harm."

Fond... Nice choice of vocabulary, there.

A few moments of silence pass.

"You know me," the guy says quietly, watching Stiles carefully, "We met when your dad's cruiser got dented by a hit-and-run driver."

Stiles remembers that day. It was hot and near the end of summer, and Stiles had been in the car with his dad to go get some ice cream. He doesn't remember getting clipped, though, and thankfully enough it wasn't bad either, but it made Stiles and his father sit at some mechanic's shop for several hours while they assessed the damage.

Stiles remember being upset that he and his father didn't get to go to the store like they had planned on, and he had been pouting to his father about it until he found a push-pop held out in front of him. Stiles can barely remember the face of the man that offered it to him, but he can recall the name that was stitched into his uniform well enough.

"D-Derek?"

The guy's face lights up almost immediately, "I knew you'd remember me."

Stiles smiles weakly, "Yeah... Food makes a big impression on me. What can I say?"

Derek moves forward, and he is still sporting that smile from when Stiles remembered his name, "I got you a few other things, too."

Stiles frowns, and he's about to jump out of his skin when Derek reaches him with something in his hand. Derek's palm outstretches, and inside of it is a black ribbon with an opal-esque pendant.

"W-What's this?"

"It's a gem called Moonstone," Derek informs him, and without warning, he slips it on over Stiles' shoulders to tie it at the back of his neck, "It's meant to help with every aspect of pregnancy, from conception to birth to even lactat-"

"Wait, _hold up,_ " Derek scowls at Stiles, "You put a _baby-making_ stone on me?"

Derek nods, "Yes, but not just any stone, Stiles. This one is magical."

Stiles hopes that his face doesn't convey that he believes that Derek is officially looney and drowing in his own creepy weirdness off in the deep end.

"I had to go through a lot of trouble to find it, but I did," he whispers, looking at Stiles fondly as he brushes the man's cheek, "I found it just for us."

Stiles tries not to shiver at Derek's unfamiliar touch, "W-Why?"

"So we can finally have kids together, of course," Derek explains, looking somewhat disappointed at Stiles, "You should've known that."

His gaze drops down to the pendant that now rests on his shoulders, and he swallows nervously as he sees how unnaturally it seems to be glowing against his skin.

"I wanted it to be all nice and pretty just like you," Derek whispers, and Stiles stiffens as he feels lips press against his forehead.

"I- I-"

Derek pulls back with a fond smile, "Don't worry, Stiles. I'll take care of that whore's body, and meanwhile, you can just relax. We wouldn't want you exerting yourself anyways. You're about to need all the energy you can get."

Stiles frowns, "W-What do you mean?"

Derek points up, "We're on a schedule here, Stiles. The stone only works whenever a full moon is out, and I don't think I can wait another month for things to be ready.

"Yeah, but what if _I'm_ not?"

Derek tilts his head, his eyes narrowing somewhat dangerously, and Stiles can't help but cower at how much darker his words are this time around, "What do you mean, Stiles?"

"I just-" Stiles mentally scrambles around for an excuse, because physical flailing?

Yeah, not gonna happen with how petrified he is.

"I just want get used to the idea is all," Stiles carefully explains, gauging every single one of Derek's reactions as he goes on, "Doesn't my body need time to adjust to it too?"

That must have been the right thing to say, because Derek's expression goes back to being warm and cuddly as he smiles once again, "No, Stiles. That's what the magic of the Moonstone takes care of. You won't have to worry about that."

"But couldn't it hurt me?" Stiles tries to argue, finding that Derek keeps leaving him at dead ends with no outs or escapes, "What if it hurts the child?"

Derek stills, "It shouldn't."

Stiles is close to hyperventalating now, "Derek, please. I don't- I don't think that now is the time for me to be-"

"I suffered through several years for this, and I _will_ get what I have been waiting for," Derek growls out, and his eyes turn red as he looks at Stiles, "You are my mate, Stiles, and it's high time that I get to finally have you as such."

Yep. He's totally hyperventalating now.

Derek looks like he's about to growl out something else, but he seems to notice that Stiles is trembling and he's gone abnormally silent, "Stiles?"

One. Two. Three.

"Stiles, can you hear me?"

A-B-C.

"Stiles, please," Derek is cupping Stiles face in milliseconds, his palms gentle against Stiles' cheeks, "I didn't mean to scare you, baby. The moon just gets me big and bad, is all."

Yeah, _that_ helps.

"W-W-What are you?" Stiles grits out.

"I'm a werewolf," Derek states simply, cooing as Stiles shivers and shakes, "I can show you, if you don't believe me."

Stiles just hopes that his wide eyes will be a good enough answer to that.

Apparently they are, because Derek nods, and Stiles ends up watching as his facial hair grows out and his features become more, well, _wolfish._

"W-Why are you doing this?" Stiles whimpers out, feeling sickly as the moon reaches its peak in the sky, "Why do you want me, of all people?"

Derek smiles, "I'm an alpha. It's in my nature to want a mate and a pack. You can give me that."

"F-Find a werewolf that can give you kids without a ring-pop on their neck, then," Stiles hisses, his abdomen cramping as he curls in on himself.

The werewolf rubs at Stiles back, seemingly calm as Stiles feels as though his insides are getting rearranged- and with what Derek said earlier, it could be a huge possibility, "I don't want anyone else, Stiles. Besides, I know that you'll be good to our pups. You'll do _much_ better than Kate or my father."

The last part is said with a large amount of contempt, and Stiles feels utterly hopeless as his body practically shifts and converts under his skin, "D-Derek-"

"It's happening, Stiles," Derek whispers in awe, and he growls just as Stiles feels something wet at the back of his jeans, "There's no stopping it now."

Stiles shakes his head, whimpering pitifully as his mind begins to relapse.

" _No no no no no,_ " he wails, scraping at the rocks with his nails as the pain grows in strength.

"Just let it happen, Stiles," Derek murmurs as the world begins to fade to black around him, his voice being the only thing that Stiles' dulling senses pick up, " _Just let it happen._ "

 

 

 


End file.
